Entitled: Reasonably Attractive
Fandom: Life With Derek
Pairing: Derek/Casey
Dedication: For WhenLightningStrikes, who keeps trying to get me back in the loop.
Notes: So I have this one song, and whenever I listen to it, I start writing LWD. I'm not even joking. Also, for this piece: I am very, very sorry.
Summary: Casey had somehow destroyed the barrier between fighting and making out. Which wasn't all that terrible, really. Considering how much they fought. — DerekCasey

So they're like nineteen—wait. Wait, no, he's nineteen, it's his birthday, and Lizze's bought him some kind of mutant light-recycling lamp, and for some reason he ends up in the closet with Casey and that isn't even a metaphor. Also, closets suck, being small and dark and generally smelling of mildew and feet.

So when Casey squeaks and he grabs her—okay, he was trying to save her life, not feel her up and she didn't have to hit him so hard.

"Ow," he complains, and makes some sort of violent lunging gesture in what he thinks is her direction and he only brushes against her chest a little before he locates her shoulder, and pins her, spitting some of her hair out of his mouth, "Where's the door?"

"Derek?" Casey says. It's very odd. Her voice seems to be coming from somewhere near his left knee. Derek drops her and starts tapping against the walls, pushing against them, and—


Wait, shit.

"What are you doing," Casey demands, "In my closet?"

"Why are you at my birthday party?!" he demands, and in all respects, it's a fair question. He hadn't invited her. He had specifically called her up to tell her that she was not invited for the express purpose of ensuring she would be there, except then her male companion (not boyfriend) had informed him, regretfully, that he and Casey would be spending the weekend in bed and so would not be allowed to attend.

Several delicate objects mysteriously broke after said phone call.

"I was..." Casey gestures vaguely, "Abducted."

"Uh-huh," Derek pushes his ear against the door. It must be the door. It is the door, right? Casey huffs, and her breath tickles his neck. He grits his teeth. "You know, if you keep stalking me like this I'm going to have to install a security system."

"Please," Casey sniffs, "You'd forget your own code."

"I'll get a dog," he decides, which is a lie, because Casey hates dogs. And so does he. But mostly because Casey whines whenever she's around them and it's just irritating.

He throws himself against the door, braced for it to burst open and to topple to the ground. The door wins. He rebounds into Casey. She head-butts him.


"Sorry, trained reflex. I mean. Not sorry. Derek, get out of my closet!"

"You get out of the closet!"

"I fully support you coming out of the closet."

"Don't try to better yourself through overused puns," he orders, and starts frantically pushing some heavy winter coats between them. Casey's retort is muffled. It is also very hot in here and he hasn't seen her in months.

"Casey, you got us locked in the damn closet," he says after a pause. Why is this thing so quiet? It's a shitty little coat closet, not a soundproofed box. Casey makes a noise of deep indignation—a noise that is seriously way too close, and his nose sort of bumps against her forehead and her hair smells like something really girly, some sort of fruity shampoo and he hates everything.

"Yeah," she agrees.

And he starts to say something except then it all sort of catches up to him and all he can manage is an, "Uh, what?"

Casey falls statue-silent. She's breathing pretty fast, too. He really wants to turn on the light. Some light. Any light. Because apparently he is now stuck in a very cramped, hot space with a Casey impersonator.

She grabs his thigh, apologizes before he can so much as squeak, and then finds his hand, jerks his arm up by the wrist, and claps his hand against her forehead. It's wet, and alarmingly hot.

"Based on my prior experiences," she declares, "I am very, very drunk."

"Prior experiences? You don't drink."

"I could have!" she says indignantly.

"Right, well," he tugs his hand away, wipes it down the front of his shirt, "It feels more like a fever to me."

There is a beat of silence. "Derek," Casey begins, in her Lawyer Voice, "I am reasonably attractive—"


"—shut up, I have stated my…my…inebriation, isn't it? Anyway. I have declared it! I have also dragged you into a closet and locked the door—"

"You what?"

"—and did I mention that I'm not wearing. Not. Not wearing any—any underwear?"

There is a very long and very painful silence. Casey squirms. He knows this because she is standing like a millimeter away from him and so when she moves, he is very, very aware of it.

"So, do you need me to take you to a hospital or something?" is what he says. It's—seriously, it's the only thing he can even think of.

"Derek," Casey sort of growls—or maybe she purrs, but he can't associate Casey with that verb because the little man inside of him starts tearing out his hair and shouting in German.

"Yeah?" he asks, dragging out the word until it cuts off because of—well, he's not really sure, but it's like there's an obstruction to his airway or something, so he sort of coughs until the sensation catches up to his inner-little man and sticks the poor guy in a box.

Derek goes through the many stages of denial.


The little man returns.

Probably because Casey says "Ha," in that super-triumphant way and that is just. Never allowed.

"So, can I get out of the closet now?" he tries, and actually manages to sound smooth and cool and—that's good, because he's pretty sure he doesn't look it. Casey is quiet for about half a second before she pipes up.

"No. Because you kissed me back."

The little man is throwing all the files into the shredder and screaming and taking a helicopter to Cabo, because that is what one does when there is evidence to be destroyed.

"Yeah, well, you're drunk," Derek says. It is one of his better arguments. He is actually sort of proud of it.

"Derek," Casey inhales sharply through her nose, "You know what? You are going to go along with this because I said so and because I want you to and your new job is to do whatever I want because you are a very crappy brother but a fairly decent boyfriend."

Derek finds it necessary to remove a coat from its rack, drape it over Casey's head, and vigorously mess up her hair. Casey screeches. It is, in all, a much more normal scene and he is actually sort of okay with it, so he's able to lean towards her a bit in that appropriately menacing fashion and remind her, "I'm never going to do what you want and I'm not your brother."

"But you have to be my something," Casey snaps, "And. And. Derek, why are you being so difficult?"


Casey kisses him again.


"Hey," Derek breaks away after about half a minute, "Stop—cheating. That's. That was definitely not included in our senior-year's treaty guidelines."

"You used those guidelines for toilet paper."

"I kept the digital copy!"

Casey attempts to kiss him again. Derek actually bangs his head against the wall and hisses, which basically deters Casey by a rate of negative one.


"Seriously!" he pulls his hands out from under her shirt, "Where'd you hide the stupid key?"

The silence is somehow very suggestive.

"I'd appreciate it if you refrained from lewd questions in the future—"

"Holy shit!"


"Oh, shut up," Derek snaps, and just sort of grabs for her before he knows what's happening and everything was out of control because Casey had somehow destroyed the barrier between fighting and making out.

Which wasn't all that terrible, really. Considering how much they fought.